Fear Cage
by Ryla Dante
Summary: Enter a house where things begin on a casual note, then downward spiral into hell. Can Sam and Dean figure out what is happening in time, or will evil win in the end?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay this story came to me after seeing an episode of Ghost Hunters a few weeks back, so I thought I would work the idea into a SPN story. I would like to thank a great friend Catbeist for urging me to finish this, and historylover for helping me as well. Both of you girls are a great push and know how to kick my ass when I need it! I can always count on you two!

By the way, the house I describe in the story is my old childhood home in Canton, Ohio. The address is the exact same. There was nothing sinister about the place, though as a child I used to think it was haunted, hehe. Thus why I used it for the story. It was easier that way then making up a house and having to over think it, as Cat would say. I tend to do that.

Disclaimer: Kripke owns Sam and Dean and any mentioning of the show I may have done. The idea belongs to Catbeist and I.

* * *

Sam looked up from his computer and sighed. Dean dropped the TV remote. He knew that sigh anywhere. His brother was thinking, and whatever it was could not be good.

"What is it Sam?"

Dean leaned back on his pillows and stared his brother down. The younger Winchester glanced at his brother, then back at the computer screen. He read something to himself then looked back at Dean.

"Well, according to this article here, two men in Canton, Ohio were trespassing on private property on March 25th. Neighbors spotted these trespassers entering an old abandoned home, and called the police, who showed up at 6am the next morning. The police discovered the two men had been somehow mauled by...a bear!"

Sitting up, and almost knocking the remote onto the floor, Dean stared hard at his baby brother. He scratched his head a moment. They had encountered some weird cases in their lifetime, but never heard of a bear mauling inside a house.

"Dude, a bear? Are you sure? I mean, that isn't even possible, even by our standards."

Sam shrugged and closed the lid to his laptop.

"Yeah, well that is why we are going there. We have to check it out, see if it's real or not."

Dean chuckled to himself.

"Man, a bear mauling. Goldilocks sure must have pissed off the wrong home owner this time!"

Sam rolled his eyes, yet did not comment.

* * *

Dean stared up at the enormous house that sat on the corner of 10th and Dueber. It was well over 100 years old, and showed it. Though years back someone has placed aluminum siding on the structure, it did not change the fact that the home was aging. The roof was cracked, the chimney was broken and falling in, both porches were almost nonexistent. The 4-car garage had met its maker long ago, and had been torn down, leaving only remnants of it to the right of the house.

Sam merely stood in the mock gravel driveway that was alongside the house. In the daylight the place may have looked a bit better, but at night it gave off an eeriness that he just did not care for. As the moon above them cut past the clouds, it licked at the broken shingling and made it seem as if it were breaking apart, ready to swallow them whole. Sam shivered visibly.

Dean placed his bag over his right shoulder, then pushed his younger brother toward the house. Sam grunted, making a face. As he began to say something, he saw that Dean was already on his way to the broken back porch. Sam rolled his eyes and headed after him, praying no one in the neighborhood could see what the hell they were doing. They had done this many times before, but this was a small suburb, and even though this place was abandoned, there were still owners around. They had to act casual. Though that was in neither one of their resumes.

"Dean, hey, subtlety please."

Sam tapped Dean on the back, making his brother jump, dropping his lockpick. Dean muttered something then grabbed for it, and returned to the lock once again. Sam ignored his brother and stepped off the porch, avoiding a loose step, and headed around to the side of the house. Here there was a large cellar door. It looked to be unlocked, So Sam tried it. It creaked audibly, causing Sam to shush himself. He looked around, waiting for someone to look out of one of the nearby houses, and when no one did, he let it open fully. Pulling a flashlight out of his bag, Sam clicked it on and shown it down into the hole. It was dark and all he could see was that the stairs were gone, rotted away from years of termite damage.

"Hey Dean, over here. I found a better way in."

Sam yelled for his brother, but after a few moments when he did not slink around the side of the house, Sam wondered what had happened. Edging his way toward the porch, he saw that the kitchen door was wide open, and apparently Dean had disappeared into the darkness of the kitchen. Sam shrugged, figuring his brother could handle himself at the moment, and returned to the cellar. Grabbing his bag and placing it over his shoulder, Sam leapt down, causing dirt and mold spores to fly into his face. He coughed, swiping at the flurry of debris now taking up residence in front of him.

Sam's flashlight bounced off the tight crawlspace, and he had to duck his head due to his height. As he stepped out of the small walkway, he started to have an uneasy feeling, began to feel as if the darkness was trying to envelope him. Sam pushed forward until he was in front of what looked like where the owners would have kept canned fruit. He examined the recessed pantries, noticing how disheveled and broken the shelves were. As he reached for a lone jar that had been left behind, the feeling that had come upon him as he entered the small cellar stung him once again.

Setting the jar back on a rickety shelf, he turned, and caught something out of the corner of his eye. Turning, his flashlight danced around until it landed on the far corner of the basement, and Sam could have sworn he had seen something, what looked like a human figure standing in the far corner.

Thinking it best to let his brother in on this little tidbit, Sam turned from the pantry and hustled up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once upstairs, he found Dean poking around in the living room, looking at a broken window. The torn window shear was blowing in the night air, looking eerily like a ghost. Sam shivered.

"Um, Dean. You might wanna come down to the basement with me. I think I saw something."

Dean turned, rubbing the back of his neck, not paying attention to what his brother had just said.

"Man, I think the cops might have hid one or two details from us, as always. I think the guys that came here first, they may have tried to go out this window, almost as if something was chasing them."

Sam watched Dean lean down to a few pieces of glass that were still left on the floor. From where he was standing, it seemed as if they were covered in blood.

"Or maybe pushed them."

Dean stared up at Sam quizzically.

"What do you mean by that? We have no evidence to support either claim Sam."

Sam pointed towards the basement door.

"Maybe not, but I saw someone, or something down there that says otherwise."

Dean stood fast, grabbing his bag. Yanking his shotgun out, checking to make sure it was loaded, he cocked it and rushed to the basement door without even saying a thing to Sam.

Dean practically flew down the stairs, not even knowing what he was going after, if anything, but in their line of work, it was shoot first, ask questions later. He scanned the basement for anything suspicious, looking under the open staircase, down the crawlspace, and then stopped right where Sam had his encounter.

A few moment later Sam was behind him, and almost scared the crap out of him by putting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Don't do that when I have a loaded gun in my hand. Accidents happen!"

Sam chuckled, then explained what he thought he saw, and where. Dean nodded, then slowly moved toward the corner of the basement. Sam watched as his brother was enveloped in shadows, and simply waited.

Seconds passed when Dean called out to his brother that all was well. Dean stepped out of the shadows shaking his head, one eyebrow raised, and muttering to himself. He pointed to the corner, showing Sam what he in fact saw.

Sam took a deep breath, chiding himself for acting like such a fool. As he looked at the corner of the basement, he realised, with better examination, it was an old coatrack set way back. With the way the dust had risen, and the shadows moved, he thought he saw someone.

"Well it could have been worse."

Sam sighed, turning his flashlight off. He turned to head for the stairs when Dean placed a hand on his shoulder, chuckling.

"Yeah, it could have been a clown!"

Sam's eyes went wide.

"Hey, they kill you know."

"Yeah, so I've heard."

Dean pushed his brother, protesting, up the stairs, slamming the basement door behind them.

* * *

Once upstairs, the boys headed for the living room again. Dean tossed the gun on top of his bag, rubbing his hands together. It was suddenly ice cold in the large room, yet no wind was blowing. The torn curtain was stationary, which caused Dean to look around the room, his eyes landing on his brother. Sam licked his lips, then cringed. He held the nape of his neck, as if someone had socked him. Dean eyed him cautiously, waiting a moment. When Sam shook his head, dropping his hand, Dean stepped toward him.

"Dude, you okay?"

The cold air had dissipated, but the feeling was still there. Something odd had happened, but Dean was not sure what. He did not like it.

"Yeah, just, my stomach feels a bit icky. I think I might have inhaled some of the dust when I jumped into the basement."

Dean sighed, then placed his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Sammy, you have got to learn to stop entering places uninvited, it only leads to trouble."

Sam nodded, then rubbed his throat. It was scratchy, and felt as if he had swallowed a brillo pad. He asked Dean if there was any way he could get him some water. Dean muttered something, making Sam huff.

"Hey, don't be a smartass man. I'd do it for you!"

Dean ignored his brother and edged his way through the small doorway to the back door. A few seconds later, Sam heard a yelp. He rushed into the kitchen, stopping short of banging into the rear end of his brother. Dean gestured toward the back door, a nasty look on his face. Sam grunted, but looked at what his brother was going on about. After only one look, he busted out laughing.

"Dude, it's just a couple of rats. They're just coming in to get warm."

Dean swatted at his brother, who laughed harder.

"I couldn't give two shits if they want to have a cup of non-fat latte and read the wall street journal, I don't want them here!"

He turned away and leaned against the sink, not even looking in that direction. Sam made a face, then kicked at the rats, which squeaked, then scattered under the refrigerator.

"There, mission accomplished. Now would you mind getting me some water please, or do I have to?"

Dean never moved; he still stared at where the rats had vacated to. Sam rolled his eyes, then reached for the door knob. As he yanked the door open, an invisible force grabbed it back with such power, the metal of the knob cut into his flesh. Before he could protest, every door and window in the house began to open and close over and over again. The front door banged open, making Sam jump, grabbing for the counter. The window behind him slowly crept open, creaking loudly. Both boys turned as it stopped midway, then slammed shut, causing a crack to edge its way up the windowpane. Dean suddenly stared at the ceiling as a door upstairs banged on its hinges, yet did not open. It sounded as if it were locked, and was trying to bust past it. Then as quickly as it all started, all was silent.

Sam breathed hard, then slowly edged for the doorknob, gingerly touching it. Surprised by the fact that it did not do anything when he did so, he tried turning it, yet nothing happened. It would not turn in either direction, as if it were welded in place. He glanced at Dean, who finally had moved from his perch to help him.

They both struggled with the knob, but found the same result. They were stuck inside a house with a mind of its own.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wrapped a handkerchief around his brother's hand, still staring around the house. He waited for the uproar to start again. They had been in some weird situations, but this place put even Amityville to shame. Sam sucked air between his teeth as Dean tied off the rag.

"Sorry man. Gonna be okay?"

Sam nodded, then his eyes darted behind his brother, making Dean stand stiff. Sam blinked, then shook his head.

"This place is a trip. First I see things in the basement, then the stowaway rats, then the house goes all demonic. Now I thought I saw someone standing behind you in the dining room."

That last statement made Dean swallow hard. Here they were stuck in this place, and his brother says he just saw something, again! What a great way to spend their free time.

As Dean was about to say something, there was a loud crash behind him. He whirled around, seeing nothing, but hearing another loud bang coming from the hallway. He slowly turned to Sam, who nodded. They both edged their way to the living room, scooping up their bags. Dean cocked the shotgun again, then slung his bag over his shoulder. He only had to wait a split second when another bang resounded from the stairs. Sam dashed out in front of him, his own gun at the ready. Dean yelled after him, but it was futile, he was through the parlor and into the hall before Dean could stop him.

"Jesus Christ!"

Sam's voice echoed though the front hall. Dean rushed through the front room and stopped short of slamming into a huge mess that someone, or something, had created in the foyer. All over the floor were boxes and broken glass; shattered vases and scattered dishes in various states of disarray. Knowing they were the only people in the place, at least they assumed they were, Dean began to freak internally. There was no way in hell he was going to show his baby brother how scared shitless he really was.

"You think the thing I saw did all this?"

Sam waved his gun over the damage. Dean half-nodded, still praying there was a squatter in the house screwing with them. Although that theory was looking highly unlikely at this point. Then, out of nowhere, a high pitched scream took over the air. It started out low, then, like an air raid siren, increased in volume. This played on three times, then cut off instantly. There was no winding down, no decrease of volume. It was as if someone had purposely cut off the screamer.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Sam pulled his hands from his ears, then looked up the stairs. It was pitch black up there, and creepy looking as hell. As he watched the darkness, what used to be a side lamp, started to flicker. They knew there was no electricity in the house. Dean had messed with many of the lamps when he first entered the house and got nothing.

Sam moved toward the lamp, not sure what to expect. He lifted the shade, and his heart almost stopped when he saw that there was not even a bulb in the socket. Sam stepped back, bumping into Dean. The light increased its motion, and as it did so, a figure emerged from the darkness. Dean gulped, gripping his gun so tight it hurt.

Sam eyed the figure, waiting for it to do something. It stood at the top landing, the light pulsing around it. Time passed slowly as they watched the shadow simply stand there suspended. It made them both shiver. When they were about to put this all off to imagination, the figure flew at them, its mouth open, the same scream coming out as they had heard earlier.

Dean finally broke free of his terror and shot at the thing. Although the result was not what he was hoping for. The bullet hit the wall behind it, causing plaster to explode from the new hole in the wall. The boys looked at each other then back at the creature about to pounce on them again, when it dissipated, as if it were never there in the first place. The light flickered, once, twice, then went out all together.

"Damn it. If this is another tulpa, I am gonna..."

Dean growled, tossing his gun to the floor, kicking the bottom step in frustration. Sam blinked. That had never even occurred to him. But it all made sense. A bear mauling in a house was just too odd to be anything other than a tulpa. Then they come here and find things change so frequently it was insane. Though the odd part is that it revolved around them, around their own life. Who could have that kind of knowledge? The trickster gave up, or so he said. All of this made Sam's head hurt. He started to feel nauseous again, and before he could work it away, immediately threw up next to the front door.

Dean forgot about his aggravations for a moment and turned to his brother. Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, Dean tired to comfort him. Sam hacked, bringing up bile and water. He fell to his knees, landing inches from broken glass. Dean cringed, trying to steer him away from the debris. Sam struggled to stand, then leaned against the front door. He swallowed hard, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Dean, I feel like shit. Almost like I've been drinking too much. Like that time I..."

They stared at each other, then fell silent. They stood that way for a while, not moving, not speaking, when the door to the upstairs landing creaked open as far as it could go, then crashed shut. Footfalls echoed off in the distance, running to their left, then disappearing overhead. Dean grunted, finally having enough. He grabbed his gun, lunging for the stairs, almost slipping on the frayed carpeting. This time it was Sam's turn to panic and watch his brother vanish.

Sam breathed heavily as the door slammed behind his brother, and could hear his boots banging on the wood. Sam picked up their bags and followed, not sure what they were going to encounter in the dark recesses of the unknown.

Dean skirted around a fallen table then into a makeshift kitchen. Papers were strewn everywhere, causing him to slip and fall to the floor. He groaned as he landed on the but of the shotgun, and the pain shot through his spinal column. Grimacing, Dean leaned on one hand, and pulled the gun out from under him with the other. Sam spotted his brother and leaned down to help him. Dean made a sound like a wounded dog, but let Sam help him.

"Damn man, that looked painful. You okay?"

Dean could only nod as he rubbed his sore back. A split second later the temperature dropped a good ten degrees. Sam shivered, holding himself. Dean breathed, and gasped as he could actually see his breath. He tilted his head in Sam's direction, and Sam leaned down to his bag and took out their EMF detector. It was obvious something was going on, but they needed to know how severe. Switching it on, Sam watched the spike jump from the green zone, to yellow all the way to red. It screeched as it tried to pass the red zone, but could not get any farther. As he moved to show this to Dean, Sam almost screamed when he saw the shadow creature from earlier, standing directly behind his brother.

"Dean, get down!"

Dean never asked why, he did as he was told. The floor connected with his chest, and the shadow man lunged at Sammy, knocking him into the attic door, his head bouncing off like a tennis ball. He groaned, but stayed awake. The figure was gone, had slipped through him and the door, and now the door was banging wildly, with Sam pinned against it. Dean looked up as the door shot open and his brother was sucked into the darkness, clawing at the air.

* * *

"Sammy!"

Dean screamed, gripping the tile floor. The door slammed shut, locking itself. All he heard in return was silence. No running of feet, no screams, no echoes. Nothing. Leaping to his feet, Dean rushed at the door, banging on it with closed fists. This time it never even budged. Then a shock, as if a bolt of electricity had been sent through the entire house, plunged through the door, knocked Dean on his ass.

The door slowly unlocked, then swung open, revealing a dark abyss that seemed to go on forever. Dean breathed hard, trying to slow his heart rate. The shock was minimal to say the least, nothing compared to that of the Rawhead, but it was still enough to make his body shake and lungs struggle for air.

Once he finally composed himself, Dean was able to stand, but still did not move from the spot he had been thrown to. He looked deep into the darkness, waiting for something to fly out at him, not sure what to expect.

"Sam, are you in there?"

No answer, not even a scrape of feet on floorboards. Dean stepped forward, not even bothering to pick up his gun. He never went anywhere unarmed, but there was something about this section of the house that pulled him, made him move without thinking. As he stepped even closer, he finally heard a far off whimper. Gripping his shirt collar tightly, Dean stopped. The sound came closer, seemed to filter around him, to float in one ear and out the other. In enveloped him, making his body twinge, shiver and shudder. He knew the sound, knew that his baby brother was in trouble, and he had to get to Sam now.

Turning to his shotgun, he yanked it off the floor then only giving the darkness a moments glance, he rushed into it, unaware of might be up there waiting for him.

* * *

The attic was empty, devoid of all life. Dean could hear nothing now, not even wind blowing through any windows, did not even know if there were any, since he could not see a stitch of light in the remote blackness. He called out, and only got his own voice back as an echo. He tried again, and his voice lingered a moment, then fell flat, hitting the floor. Dean knew there was nothing up here now, and that scared him more than anything.

Dean began to back down the stairs, when the attic was enveloped in a blinding light. Dean covered his eyes, the light burning into his retinas. It slowly diminished, leaving behind the figure that had tried to attack them downstairs. Dean had his gun ready, pointing it at the creature, when he heard his brother. Sam was kneeling on the floor next to the shadow, his face bleeding. It looked just as it did when Meg had been controlling the daeva.

Before Dean could even blink, his finger had pulled the trigger and a shot exploded through the attic. It crashed through the shadow, making it laugh aloud. The shot blew out a window behind it, causing the night air to blow in.

"Why the hell can't you just die?"

Dean leveled off his gun to shoot again, when the shadow stepped forward, stopping inches from the front of the barrel. A smile appeared on whatever face it had, making it look sinister. It spoke, a gravelly tone that scared the hell out Dean.

"Because I'm not real Dean. I am part of your mind!"

Dean blinked, and only had a second to think about what it had said, when it lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. It vanished again, leaving them both even more freaked than before.

Sam edged his way to his brother, helping him up. They eyed the attic as best they could in the darkness. Neither of them had a flashlight handy, so all they could do was judge their bearings. Every shadow seemed to be the wrong one.

"What, what did it mean by that?"

Dean shook his head, and never had a chance to answer, when the shadow returned, barreling into him. He tumbled into Sam who slipped out the window, cutting his arm on the broken glass. He caught onto the ledge, hanging as best he could so as not to fall onto the rickety porch roof below. Dean turned onto his back on the floor, and shuffled back on his hands and feet, trying to avoid the thing that was hovering over him.

"I thought you said you weren't real?"

It laughed heartily.

"I'm not, you just don't get it do you? You haven't figured it out have you?"

Dean turned from the figure, spinning on his hands. He grabbed for his brother, perhaps a little too late. Sam slipped from the ledge and Dean could hear him crash to the grass below. He never looked back. He pulled himself through the small window, hoping he wasn't too late to save his baby brother.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Dean edged his large frame onto the porch roof, catching his boots on the shingling. The moon was still overhead, casting eery shadows over the house. As Dean glanced up at it, he lost his footing and skidded down the roof and landed hard on his chest on the grass below, only inches from the sidewalk and his brother.

"Uh, sh..."

Dean grunted, the air knocked out of him. Sam sat up, grabbing for his brother. His head hurt from the fall, but other than that he was generally unscathed. The towel on his left hand was missing, the mark on his face was gone. Something was amiss here.

"Man, did you, did you catch the plate of the bus that kicked my ass?"

Sam chuckled as his brother rolled over, finally able to speak. Dean ran a hand over his face and looked up at the house and his breath hitched. The attic window was intact. Not a break, not even a sliver missing. Sitting up, he stared harder, praying it was just a trick of the moonlight. Though there it was, glass back in place.

"Sam, I have no idea in hell what is going on here, but I do not like it. Not one bit!"

They both stood, not even feeling sore now, and raced around the back half of the house. Sam leapt down into the basement first, ignoring the dust that filtered into his face. Dean followed after him. They moved slowly toward the back half of the cellar, stopping where Sam had his first encounter, and both stopped short when they saw Sam's gear, sitting on the floor as if it had never moved a solitary inch.

"What the hell?"

Sam touched it, half expecting it to vanish, but it was as solid as he was. He turned back to his brother, when something struck him. He yanked his EMF detector out of the bag as he had in the upstairs kitchen, or thought he had, and scanned the cellar. Dean walked behind him, eying the machine. It stayed steady for a moment, then as soon as they came back to the pantries, it went wild. It crossed over into the red and begged to cross even further. Sam stepped forward and looked up. There was a large junction box with millions of exposed wires. The detector screamed as loud as it could. Sam turned it off and tossed it to his brother.

"I can not believe this, not at all!"

Dean stared at Sam as if he had just spoke in Swahili. What the hell was he babbling about? Believe what?

"Um, could you fill me in on your little revelation there buddy boy. Apparently some of us are a little slow on the uptake."

Sam turned, leaning on a small workbench. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, seems this area of the basement is what we call a Fear Cage."

That was all he said, as if that was enough of an explanation. Dean frowned, tapping his foot. That was not enough. He did not think a simple: "well this is a blahdy-blah" was gonna cut it. Crossing his arms, Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I assume there's more to this, or else all your time at Stanford was for naught."

Sam huffed.

"Well if you gave me two damn seconds, I might get there."

Dean put his hands up in a fake defensive matter.

"Woah, excuse me. Don't have to get your tighty-whiteies in a bunch."

Sam squinted.

"May I continue, please?"

Dean chuckled.

"If it so pleases you your Highness."

Sam ignored his brother's comment, but continued just the same.

"As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, a Fear Cage is something that many buildings have. Where, if the wiring is bad, you might sense a feeling of paranoia, see things, feel nauseous. Depending on how sensitive you are to these, it can manifest itself to the highest degree."

Dean thought about this a bit.

"So everything that happened tonight, it was all fake, nothing really happened? It was all in our he...Wait. That was what the shadow said to me. It told me it wasn't real, that it was in our minds. Explains why my back no longer hurts, why your face isn't bleeding, and the attic window. We imagined it all. But one thing, how the hell did we get from here to the front lawn?"

Sam chewed on that a moment, then spoke.

"I think that was merely a delusion brought on by our sub-conscious, manifested by the stress of the job. In reality, we never left here. The truth is..."

Dean stopped his brother with a hand to his face.

"Sammy, the truth is, you talk too much and all that psycho babble gives me a headache. I think it's better if we don't know the truth, cause sometimes the truth is scarier than fiction. That okay with you college boy?"

Sam shrugged. In all honesty, he was scared out of his mind. He was only trying to cover his fear with words, and prayed that it worked. He truly had no idea what in hell happened down in the cellar. The Fear Cage theory was all he had to work with, and gave them the best to work with. Dean smacked his brother on the arm, spooking him. He pointing toward the ceiling, letting Sam know that he was going to retrieve his bag. If Sam's idea was right, it was still upstairs in the living room. He gave his brother a half-smile, then climbed the cellar stairs, shutting him in.

Sam sighed. He reached down to his flashlight that was on top of his bag. Somehow he could not remember leaving it there, but oh well, it was just a fluke. Standing up, and flicking it on, Sam gasped as a shadow stepped out of the corner of the basement.

"You?! But you said..."

The shadow stood within a breath's distance of Sam. He could feel dampness exude off it. He shivered.

"Yes, I know. I lied!"

Sam screamed as the shadow engulfed him, entangling with his clothes, slipping into his lungs. He choked and spat, trying to get rid of the vile mess that was now inhabiting him. A crash erupted the cellar as Dean tossed open the door and flew down the stairs. He cried his brother's name, then reached for his gun. Taking careful aim, he let off a single shot. The creature never moved when the rocksalt made a hole in its head. It imploded, becoming nothing but dust.

"Sam, Sammy!"

Dean grabbed his brother as he fell to the floor, gagging and spitting. A small cloud of dust slipped past his lips, but other than that, it was gone.

"No offense dude, but I thought you said it was that Fear Cage deal."

Sam looked up at his brother, breathing heavily.

"I think it still is, but at this point it's too far gone. We have given it too much power. Like Amityville, it sort of took on a mind of its own. We need to get the hell out of dodge, before dodge makes us a permanent resident."

Dean nodded, then lifted his brother to his feet. A light above them, this time with a bulb in it, flickered, then exploded. Dean sheltered his brother then grabbed his bag and gun, rushing them up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, a leftover gardening tool flew at them. Dean pushed Sam to the stairs, the trowel slicing Dean's shoulder. He groaned. Ignoring the pain, he pulled Sam up, and kicked the door open. In the hall, papers, broken glass and other debris were flying hither and yon. Dean slammed Sam against a wall and swung the bag in front of him to avoid the flying objects.

"Sam, hit the floor. Crawl...NOW!"

Sam did as he was told. He dropped to the floor, and worked his way toward the dining room just as a broken vase sailed over his head. Dean grunted as a bowl cracked him in the back of the head. Blood trickled down the back of his head. He continued to swing the bag anyway.

Dean backed into the dining room, then around into the living room. He dropped to the floor alongside his brother, who noticed Dean's wound. Sam ripped a piece off a piece of his shirt and pressed it to Dean's head, causing him to suck air between his teeth.

"Dude, don't!"

Sam protested.

"Hey I need you to save my life, and you can't if you're bleeding to death."

Dean rolled his eyes, but let him control the bleeding. The flying objects ceased their trajectory, and crashed to the floor. The sound was ear splitting. Dean pushed at his brother. Sam teetered backwards, almost falling against a broken chair, but caught himself before impaling himself. Skirting around the death trap, he moved toward Dean's bag and scooped it up. Then they both hurried into the kitchen.

They stopped short as the stove door shot off, hitting the sink window, shattering it. Gas began to hiss, then fire shot out of the stove, blocking their path.

"Sam, we have to go through the basement, it's our only chance of getting out alive."

Sam did not like the sound of that, but it was either that, or be fricasseed alive. He nodded, and they both rushed for the basement door. The hallway was silent, it never even bothered to stop them, which was never a good thing.

In the basement, all was silent, and there was even a light on. Something was definitely not right. Dean went first, holding Sam back. As they stepped into the middle of the cellar, the light dimmed, casting more shadows yet again. Dean watched as the shadows began to move, to dance. Then the very creature he shot not even 10 minutes ago, slipped out of the middle of the room and smiled.

"Well, looks like you can't get anything right, huh Dean? Lousy shot, lousy brother. Too bad tonight is the night you die!"

A tick started slowly, then sped up. It sounded like it was to their right, in one of the pipes. As if a rat was trapped in one of them, trying to get out. Sam grunted, pressing on Dean's hold on him. Dean looked back at him with a look of sheer terror on his face.

"Sammy, I'm sorry, but you have to go. Get out of here, just go!"

Dean strong armed Sam, thrusting him toward the crawlspace. Sam could hear the sound more clear from there, and knew instantly what it was. The upstairs gas pipe had backed up, and it would be only mere seconds before the house would become a raging inferno.

"Dean, this isn't real. Once we get out of the house, once we are far enough away, we will be safe!"

Dean shook his head.

"No, you said it yourself Sammy, it's like Amityville. It takes over, gets too strong. There's nothing I can do, but there is something you can. You can get your dumb ass out of here! Now just go!"

Sam wanted to hit his brother. He was being foolish. This was not the time to be the big badass, trying to save everyone. He reached for Dean who just shoved him away.

"No, damn it. I mean it. If I have to throw you out of this cellar myself, I will. GO!"

Dean pushed Sam hard, causing him to land against the stone wall. He grunted, a tear falling from his eye. _Damn you Dean, you bastard!_ Sam gave his brother one last look, then ran toward the opening. Pulling himself out, he rushed toward the Impala. He looked back, waiting, praying Dean would be right behind him. Then he just turned his back, not wanting to look anymore.

Moments later the house exploded, shingles and doors flying everywhere. Sam was knocked on his back in the gravel drive, a piece of shingle landing on his chest. Everything went black.

* * *

Sam groaned. The sound was muffled, and his head hurt. He touched his forehead, and felt blood. He was unaware of how that happened, or even of where he was at the moment. Sam tried to sit up, but felt himself being set back down. Wherever he was, it was softer than gravel, and a lot brighter.

"Dude, you can't do that. You might throw up in my car."

Sam heard a chuckle. He knew that sound anywhere. Opening his eyes a bit more, he saw his brother sitting next to him in the Impala. He had a matching cut over his left eyebrow, and looked a bit singed, but seemed otherwise uninjured. Sam lunged at him, hugging him hard.

"Uh, dude, air. Breath, can't..."

Sam smiled, not wanting to pull back. It was hard to believe that his brother had survived that explosion. But he did as he was asked.

"How did, how did, how...?"

Dean eyed Sam.

"Man, are you sure you went to college? Maybe all those late night cram sessions made your mind a bit flabby around the middle."

Dean waited for Sam to jab him back, but he just continued smiling like a goof.

"Okay, you are creeping me out there. Mind if you stop that?"

Sam coughed, but still kept a slight smile on his face.

"But seriously, how did you make it out? I watched, and you never..."

Dean was the one to smile now.

"Sam, never turn your back on your brother will ya? I just saw you turn your back when I hurried my ass out of there."

"How did you get rid of that thing in there?"

Dean leaned against the back seat of the Impala, his eyes half closed. Sam could see what damage the house really was in. It was eviscerated. Nothing but rubble. In the distance he heard a fire truck blaring and people yelling. He stared at Dean, wondering why they were sticking around for this.

"Well, I just gave that bastard a taste of its own medicine. Made it a crispy critter. If you had been down there with me, I knew we both would have died down there. I needed you to get out so I could destroy it."

An ambulance whined in unison with the fire engine. Sam tapped Dean, who opened his eyes. He listened closely, then sat up.

"Looks like we have company. Time to make the great escape, so to speak."

Then Sam said something that he wished he hadn't.

"What if this becomes like Mordecai? I mean, what if we can't stop it?"

Dean turned back to his brother, a sour look on his face. The thought had crossed his face, yet he wished Sam had not said it aloud.

"Well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when get to it."

Sam sighed. It was an answer, just not one he was looking for. Dean exited the vehicle, picking up their bags and shoving them in the truck. He slammed it shut then slipped into the driver's side. Sam made himself as comfortable as he could in the backseat, moving his long legs into a decent spot, then laid back. As Dean started the car, Sam looked out at the wreckage. Ash and debris filtered into the air, floating toward the moon. Sam watched this little dance with awe for a moment, then gasped as he saw the ash take shape in front of the glowing orb. It settled there a second, then broke apart. He could swear he heard laughter as the ash was taken away by a gust of wind, not to be seen again.


End file.
